


Those Who Do Hold or Break

by flickerjax (Stone_Princess)



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Breathplay, Cruelty, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Sexy planet hoarding space dragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3558863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stone_Princess/pseuds/flickerjax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oedipal is too mild to describe Balem’s terrifying drive for connection. Even dangerous sex games won't give him what he seeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Who Do Hold or Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linaerys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linaerys/gifts).



> Written on my phone in the middle of the night when I should have been sleeping instead of fantasizing terrible things about Balem. Thanks to [canterville](http://archiveofourown.org/users/canterville/pseuds/canterville) and [velvetglove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetglove/pseuds/velvetglove) for the quick and very helpful betas.

* * *

The heel of her hand presses knife-like into the divot at the base of Balem’s skull, ulna connecting to vertebrae, bone to bone. The bright pain distracts him from the desperate need for air as his lover, Kamineh, holds his head under water. Her other hand wraps around his throat as if to restrain him in case he fights back. The slight weight of her body, bent over his back, is barely enough to anchor him against the cool marble edge of the tub. 

Balem’s passage from childhood to adulthood was two, three, four thousand years ago. An epoch in which he has not once cried out for his mother. Hundreds of heartbreaks, millions of hurts and none brutal enough to force him to ask for her comfort. Now, for an instant, the pain in his skull, the terror of water filling his lungs stirs up a child-like need. The desire for the safety and comfort that the concept of ‘mother’ should bring blooms in his chest, opening a void for all the emotional sentiment he ignores to spill into. Even as the water threatens to drown him, to rush into his mouth or nose should he desperately suck for air or try to cry out, he could still call Seraphi through his implant, beg for her to save him, plead for consolation, for relief.

His faint but growing fear of death evaporates when Kamineh’s hands release too quickly, pulling back as if burned, always too anxious of hurting him. Her weight lifts from his body. Balem rears up, sucking in air as soon as he is free of the water, light exploding behind his eyes when oxygen hits his brain. Kamineh reaches for him, one hand transferring from throat to hip, the other from skull to cock, stroking quickly to finish him off. Balem knows her satisfied smirk is in place though water streaming from his hair blurs his vision and hides it from sight. 

"You're still so hard.” Her voice is peppered with more awe than lust. The heat of her body settles on him again, her breasts pressing into his back, his chest still on the hard marble edge of the tub. "Your fuck games get nastier and more dangerous and you still stay so hard for me."

The heat of Kamineh’s breath in his ear disgusts him more than any deviant bedroom game he can think of. Her weakness made her free him too soon, as it always did. For Kamineh a mock drowning was perverse fun, but she could never follow through to take it far enough to be truly exciting. Shoving her hand away, Balem stands, moving to center of the room, eager not to be trapped between her and the bath, lest she fail him again.

"It’s not for you," he spits, fingers glancing over his erection in demonstration, the ever present revulsion at his own desires rising up inside him. Even with such a strong resemblance, Kamineh’s feeble attempts to play his games have curdled any affection he ever felt for her. "You’ve never been good enough."

Kamineh’s smirk freezes on her lips, the confidence in her eyes fading. That broken expression hanging repugnantly on her face reveals her for what she really is, what she's always been: another sycophant, desperate for a piece of what his family has, clawing for piece of him to make that connection last. Her striking appearance and easy-going nature have kept her with him longer than any of her predecessors, but she lacks the steel core he needs in a partner. 

When they’d met she was smart enough to carry her own as they bantered over the politics of the day, but he was drawn in by the full red bow of her lips, her long, deep brown hair. Now the dark pools of her eyes, even full of panic, don't please him as they once had. Her weakness only highlights what an imperfect copy she is. The bone structure is right, and she carries herself with all the proper airs of an Entitled, but like a damaged clone, Kamineh never gives the right response. She lacks Seraphi’s depth.

"Get out," he whispers; stepping back in to the bath and carefully lowering himself in to water still hot enough to be enjoyed.

Her unpleasantly confused look of satisfaction and uncertainty instantly switches to dread as she reads his intent, knows she is abandoned. In the scent of her fear Balem finds the excitement he wanted from their earlier play.

"You will never be worthy of this." The whisper felt better than his own hand on his cock. The tight control of his voice a weapon he lost only when something aroused him enough to forget himself. For a while their secret games had been powerful enough to free him from that need for control. But he could have easily beaten the diminutive Kamineh at any moment, and her inability to keep him under until he was truly scared proved her worthlessness. She was useless to him now, her new ugliness sealing her fate.

"Get out!" He shouts, sitting up, control relinquished—and there’s pleasure in that too—when she has not instantly obeyed his command, locked in place by her own fear.

As Kamineh flees the room, Balem leans back in the bath, pondering for a second what he should do to her. For now, her fear will be enough; looking over her shoulder at every sound, every movement, wondering if the rumors that he killed all his lovers were true. 

Balem squeezes his cock again, superficial pleasure tamping down the emptiness still overflowing in his chest. Closing his eyes, he chases the memory of that spark of mortal panic when his breath was gone, knowing his orgasm waits behind that fright. Balem searches for the buried childish piece of himself that wanted to cry out for his mother when death loomed, however briefly, at the edges of consciousness. But that threat of death was illusory. Just like the idea that his mother would ever offer comfort or safety.

Sinking under the water, one hand on his cock, the other resting lightly on his throat, he strokes and seeks again the space where anything was possible. Balem could never ask Seraphi for what she will never offer but he rapidly finds his way to an intoxicating, turbulent orgasm, imagining the searing vulnerability of such a plea for love. His seed clouds the water as he enters again into that single second where he is desperate enough for air to fear death, to need his mother, to imagine she could rescue him if he would just cry out.


End file.
